nightmares
by sashlery
Summary: While on a... fairly odd case in New York, Reid meets the bookish Hermione, someone who is like him in so many ways that it's impossible not to fall in love from the start. As the case becomes more and more tense, it's obvious that the team is missing something, something big, something that could be the final puzzle piece. Will they find it in time?
1. Chapter 1

A few things: this is sort of AUish in the fact that a lot of people who died in the books are alive here because it's my fic and if I want characters I love to be alive than they will very damn well be alive. I think that this is just Remus, Tonks, Fred, Hedwig (because let's be real Jo that was just overkill), and probably more that I'm forgetting.

ALSO I sort of fudged up the timelines a little so that, while this takes place in 2012, both Reid and Hermione are 30, just because I'm really bad at remembering ages and I figure it'll be more forgivable of me to give them a younger age that I can remember better than to try to keep their canonical ages and constantly make mistakes.

* * *

"I'm going to kill you," the voice of Bellatrix is shrill and crazed as she skips down the halls of the broken castle, looking around with a calculating look and a vicious grin. "I'm going to torture you first, though. I'll make you bleed, show you how dirty your blood really is. Hide all you want, mudblood, but I will find you. You are going to be begging for death by the time I get through with you."

Hermione dares not make a sound, lest the dark witch hear and somehow see through her disillusionment charm. She can see Bellatrix coming, getting closer, and soon she'll be cornered with no choice but to fight the death eater. The woman's movements are jerky and she's begun repeating 'mudblood' over and over in a sing song voice.

The time has come when Hermione has no choice but to make a move, but before she can do anything Bellatrix's eyes have flitted over to her before looking in the opposite directed, but the corner of her mouth lifts in a smirk, and Hermione fills with dread from the realization that she has somehow managed to see past the charm.

"Cruci-"

This is when the young witch wakes in a cold sweat. She breathes deeply, pushes her frizzy hair out of her face, and rubs at her eyes tiredly before checking her watch. Five in the morning. She can hear the bustle outside her flat as people start to make their way to their jobs (and Merlin, how dreadful it must be to have a job that requires one to wake up at such an awful hour each day), and decides that she should just go ahead and get up for the day.

It doesn't take long to get ready, but she doesn't need to be anywhere till noon, when she'll be meeting Harry for lunch, as he's to be staying with her while investigating in America.

Although the fact that she doesn't need to be anywhere doesn't mean she's going to stay in her flat. There had been a time, immediately after the war, where she had considered giving up on magic completely and living the rest of her life as a muggle, and while she's glad she hadn't done that, sometimes being alone in her apartment, surrounded by walls upon walls of bookshelves filled with magical theory, potions ingredients, and other reminders of magic, is a little too much for her. Especially after a nightmare. Even the tiniest things, like moving pictures of her friends and the collection of chocolate frogs she kept for when she had visitors became overbearing.

She shrugs on a jacket and sticks her hand in her pocket to wrap around her wand, smiling at the feeling of calm that washes over her at the action, and heads out the door.

"The problem with New York," Reid says, "is that it's entirely too crowded." Morgan laughs at this and messes with the younger agent's hair.

"I don't know, Kid. I kinda like it. People watching can be fun." There have been a string of deaths in the city over the past few weeks, none of them like anything the BAU has ever seen. There is seemingly no cause of death, and the only reason the Bureau are on the case is because the spots where the bodies were found are all too close for it to be coincidence, and the person who contacted JJ was an old friend of Blake's, someone who the older agent assured was smart and wouldn't have contacted unless they genuinely thought it was all more than coincidence.

"Okay, look at it this way, Morgan. Any one of these people could be murderers. Could be our UNSUB."

"Wow, Kid, morbid much?" Morgan replies, though he rolls his eyes at the last bit, still not quite believing there even is an UNSUB. Reid just shrugs.

The two had been ordered to scope out the part of the city in between each dumping spot, but since it was pretty obvious that there wasn't going to be any advances in the case during the time it might take to walk around the designated area, they were taking their time.

"What I don't get," Morgan said after a few minutes of silence, "is why we have to do this at eight in the morning. It's not like there are a lot of people awake right now."

"Maybe that's why," Reid said. "We're making a geographical profile, right? That doesn't necessarily include people, and in such a place as New York where the streets are usually so crowded, maybe it's better for us to do it early when there aren't as many people out."

"I guess." They lapse into silence again, walking through the streets of New York which, despite the time of day, are still somewhat crowded, till they come across a park (or rather, _the_park. Central Park), and Morgan suggests they take a break in the park for a bit.

They sit on a bench, and Reid turns to his colleague. "So..."

"So..."

He can't hold it in anymore. "So, what's up with you and Garcia?" Morgan is suddenly very still.

"I'm not quite sure I understand the question," he says, and as a rule they aren't supposed to profile their fellow agents, but it's impossible for Reid NOT to when Morgan's being such an open book.

"Oh, come on. I may be cripplingly socially inept, but even I can tell that there's something between you two. You can tell me, it's not like I have anyone to gossip to." Morgan sighs.

"I like her, she likes Kevin, that's that. It may be hard for you to believe this, Kid, but I'm a gentleman. I'm not going to try anything while she's still upset about the breakup. Plus, it would make our friendship awkward."

"Mmhm," Reid nods as though he's actually going to accept that for an answer. He's not. But before he can push the subject, Morgan swoops in with a question of his own.

"Speaking of girls, you got anyone on your mind lately, Pretty Boy?" Reid can feel the blush crawling up his neck as he shakes his head. It's obvious by Morgan's smirk that he doesn't believe it.

"No, really, I don't, I swear. What kind of girl would want anything to do with this?" Now would be the most unfortunate time for him to make eye contact with a pretty stranger, which is, of course, why this exact thing happens. She's sitting on the bench across from them, reading a book, and she's not pretty in a Societal Expectations of Women way, but more a natural beauty. Her hair is very... large, and curly, and she's worrying her top lip, looking at him with wide eyes before offering up a small smile. Reid feels his blush deepen as he smiles back, and when Morgan follows his gaze and starts to grin, he knows he's done for.

"She's nice, man. I know you got game, I've seen you work your magic before. Go talk to her, lover boy."

"I don't know, Morgan..." He thinks that his face will forever be tinted red.

"We're going to have to get back to our actual jobs very soon and you don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you had talked to that pretty girl in Central Park, do you? So go talk to her." Morgan thinks for a second, and then as an afterthought adds, "Plus, she's reading To Kill a Mockingbird. That's classic literature, right? Maybe she's a geek too."

Reid considers it, considers the fact that they WILL be moving on in a few minutes, and somehow manages to convince himself it's a good idea, so he nervously stands and takes his first step towards her bench.

* * *

Yep. This is my first multiple chapter'd fic in a looooooooong time, so I really hope all goes well. I don't have a beta and this has only been briefly read over a few times so I apologize if there are any mistakes! I hope you enjoy, and chapter two is on its way. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione felt her eyes widen comically. There was a man approaching her. A rather attractive man, at that.

Oh dear.

She hadn't meant to look up at him, let alone meet his gaze. It was the sort of thing written in a two-penny romance. She'd heard muffled voices relatively close to her and felt the need to investigate because normally the only other people in Central Park this early were joggers. If Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil had seen it, they would have said it was fate.

"H-hello," a voice greets, and Hermione can tell her eyebrows have not gone back to their normal position yet. With a blush, she quickly forces her forehead to smooth out and her eyes to become a little less wide.

"Hello," she replies, and she can feel the blush sneaking its way up her neck to the tips of her ears.

"I'm Spencer Reid," he says, refusing to let his eyes wander anywhere near her face.

"Hermione Granger." She holds out her hand, and he leaves her hanging long enough for it to be awkward before realizing her intent and shaking it sheepishly.

There's an awkward silence in which the man, Spencer, seems to be working up the courage to reply. It's obvious once he's mustered enough of it to speak because a smile slowly blossoms on his face. "What part are you at?"

Hermione's clever, and she doesn't even have to ask what he means, just respond immediately with, "Tom's trial. I normally would have been finished by now, but I've read it before so I decided to take my time." She recognizes the fact that she's subconsciously trying to impress him.

"I see. Do you know how many words you read per minute?" She perks up a bit at this question. Not the kind of question considered normal while making acquaintance, but she smiles at it.

"Five hundred," she replies. The range of words per minute for an average adult is roughly 250-300, so she's quite proud of this. "You?"

"Oh, uh..." he's blushing, and she wonders if he's a slow reader. Not anything to be self conscious about, as one's understanding of the text is more important than how fast one can read through it, but if he values such a thing highly then it's understandable that he might be embarrassed. "Tw-twenty thousand." It's whispered, but her ears have been trained to picking up even the slightest sound.

"Per _minute_?" Hermione doesn't mean to gawk or come off as rude, but it's a bit difficult. Spencer's blushing and nodding sheepishly. "That's brilliant!" she says, smiling wide. "And you know that that's a compliment if it's coming from me. I've always been the cleverest person in the room, so to speak, and I rarely call a person brilliant." Hermione blushes at this, realizing exactly how arrogant that sounds. She can see Spencer's friend looking at them and smirking, but also tapping his foot as though they should be leaving, so she asks the man before her if he has any paper and a pen, and when they are presented she jots her number down, hands it back to him, and smiles widely.

Today is going better than she thought it would.

-

Hermione Granger.

With a name like that, it's almost fate that she's an avid reader (Spencer thinks it's safe to assume that she is).

Once they've said their goodbyes, he jogs back to Morgan, who's smirking. "I told you, Reid. You got game." Reid masks his giddiness with a mumbled 'shut up' and a half-hearted punch to the other agent's arm.

-

Hermione walks into the diner at noon, wincing at how noisy it is. She walks up to the podium and asks if a Harry Potter has arrived yet. She's led to a corner booth where Harry's sitting, sipping at his soda and filling out paperwork.

"Harry!" she exclaims with a grin, and he looks up at her, his happy expression mirroring her own.

"'Mione!" he says as she sits down across from him. "It's been too long. Christmas is coming up and Mrs. Weasley told me that if you don't visit, she'll have your head."

Hermione laughs. "I'll try my best, but I'm not sure I'll be able to get off. Just because it's holiday season doesn't mean all of the idiots in the world rest long enough for us healers to enjoy it. Especially since we're having a shortage of healers at the clinic, a lot of people are having to work overtime." There's extra emphasis on 'a lot of people', and Harry gives her a knowing look.

"You aren't, I take it?"

"I try to request it so that the others don't have to work so often, but my bosses just aren't having it. 'You're Hermione Granger, you've no need for any more strain on your back.' The war was years ago! I haven't had real strain on my back for a long while, just a few nightmares and the occasional ache in my arm. But you know how it is." The man nods. He most certainly does know.

There's a pause, before Harry puts his pen down again before looking at her. "Nightmares?"

"It's not big deal, just a few every now and then. It's to be expected, honestly." Hermione shrugs. "Anyway, we're not here to discuss me, we're here to discuss you. Or rather, your case. What's been happening?"

"Apparently someone's been going around avada-ing people. Almost definitely a hate crime; most victims are muggles and those who aren't are muggleborns. There's no physical sign of torture or sadism, although I'd wager if it's hate crimes against muggleborns and the one behind it is using one unforgivable, then it's safe to say that the cruciatus is being utilized as well." Harry sighs.

"Are there any physical similarities between victims?"

"Not enough for us to make a connection. One victim has brown hair and blue eye, another shares the brown hair but has brown eyes, another hasn't got brown hair but has brown eyes... It's like a chain, not enough for us to tell but at least it's enough for us to be suspicious." He pauses. "The muggle authorities are investigating as well, so we need to solve this as soon as possible before they get too involved..." He trails off, and Hermione sighs, knowing what comes next.

"Of course I'll help, Harry. Now where is that waitress? I'm starving." Harry grins, and that's that.

* * *

I do, in fact, recognize that in the previous chapter I said that the victims were all very close in appearance, but I hadn't been thinking at the time, therefore I hadn't realized that if this monster goes the way I would like it to, that's not the case. I've since edited that bit out of the chapter (not much to deal with, it was only a few words), so. Yep.

I had also planned, when I first started, to have each chapter be about half Hermione's POV and half Reid's POV. I feel like, though, for this baby to flow smoothly, that can't be the case. So it'll probably be more Hermione's POV as, 1) it's centered more around the HP world than the CM world, and 2) I find writing Hermione is easier than writing Reid.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Have a reasonably pleasant day! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** How did you guys like last night's episode? I, personally, thought it was brilliant. Absolutely terrifying and mentally scarring, but brilliant. Also, I ship Reid and his girlfriend so much oh my god at the end when the whole 'date' part was happening, my sister and I were fangirling so hard we literally had to hold each other so neither of us fell over. Some very odd noises came out of my mouth, as well.

Anyway, here you go! :)

* * *

As soon as Morgan and Reid step into the Police Department, it's obvious something's happened. This thing becomes clear as soon as JJ waves them over to the rest of the team and they're told another body has been found.

"The new victim, a 28 year old named Alana Fitz, has almost nothing in common with the previous three victims, Chelsea Williams, Diane Patricks, and Zoe Trail," JJ starts. "The only things they have in common are the fact that they're all in their late twenties, they've all been dumped in high risk areas such as alleyways, and before Alana there had been absolutely no trace of evidence on them." She takes a breath. "The UNSUB has evolved to making a deep cut along the upper arms, puncturing the brachial artery." Sure enough, on the crime scene photos there are two long, vertical gashes running the lengths of the victim's upper arms. "It's impossible to tell if death was caused by loss of blood, or if the cutting was just a temporary torture tactic and Alana Fitz's death was caused by the same unknown method as the previous three vics."

Hotch takes over now. "It's not much, but it's more than we had before. Reid, Morgan, do you have any information on the previous drop off locations?"

Morgan looks over at Reid, who is studying the crime scene photos very intently. He decides to go ahead and relay their findings."Other than the fact that they're all the generic, shady alleyways, there's not much. They aren't far away from each other, and before now we had assumed that the UNSUB probably lives a safe distance away from dump sites, but since the place where Alana Fitz's body was found was so far away from the previous three sites, I'm not so sure."

"Okay," Blake starts, "the most recent dump site was farther away from the others, but not TOO far away. What if the UNSUB lives somewhere in between. They would be closer than most might be, but if they're cocky and positive that the authorities won't be able to find out that they're causing the deaths, they may not see any reason NOT to live unreasonably close to the dumping sites."

Rossi shrugs. "It's what I'd do." He continues at the alarmed looks from his colleagues. "Come on, people. If you were able to kill people without leaving any trace of yourself or even of their cause of death, you'd be pretty arrogant too. Let's just hope that this possible arrogance causes a slip up in the future."

"So, this is your flat?" Harry asks, a smile on his face as he looks around. The walls are lined with bookshelves which are, of course, brimming with books. Typical Hermione. There is at least one picture on every hard, flat surface. He recognizes most of them, and the ones that he doesn't still bring a nostalgic warmth to his heart. There are a few open books strewn across the coffee table. Then he realizes there is only one bedroom. "Where am I sleeping? I mean, not that I mind sleeping on the couch, but I had just assumed I had a, uh, bed."

Hermione rolls her eyes as though the answer is obvious. "Of course you have a bed, I've just yet to make your room." At his questioning glance she sighs and specifies, "Undetectable extension charm. Obviously."

"Right," Harry says, nodding his head. "Obviously. How did I not think of that?" Hermione just smiles.

"Well, I'd imagine it's because you've a lot on your mind and a very odd, difficult case on your hands that you need to solve before the muggle police get too involved." Harry groans at this, and she laughs.

Harry explores the last bit of the flat while she charms a whole other room into the wall. There's not much left to see, just the kitchen and the loo (he's quite sure that she doesn't want him inspecting her bedroom), and he doesn't really care for an all access tour of the toilet. The kitchen is small, with a little table off to the side. It has... well, what you'd expect of a kitchen, along with a cauldron at the end of the counter and jars of potions ingredients lining the walls.

He goes back to the living room to see that Hermione's finished conjuring the extra space and is sitting on the couch, reading a book. "It's got everything I could think that you might need, but if there's anything else, just ask me. In fact, I'm sure that you can acquire it yourself." She looks up at him. "Would you like some tea?"

"Actually, 'Mione, I have a meeting with an American team of aurors, so I've got to go."

"Oh! Bye, then. I hope all goes well," she says, and he nods at her before apparating.

The team's set up at the case table, eating lunch and avoiding thinking about the odd case for a while. Everyone's laughing at a story Rossi's just finished telling about giving Garcia cooking lessons and having her almost set his house on fire. There's a comfortable silence, the only noise is the soft sound of eating, when Morgan gets an evil glint in his eye and, smirking, very loudly asks, "So, you gonna call that girl, Reid?"

Everyone stops what they're doing, six curious sets of eyes turning to Reid, taking in his red face and deer-in-headlights expression. "Wait." The first person to break the silence is Garcia, her voice coming on over the phone sitting in the middle of the table. "What girl? There's a girl? Does Reid have a girlfriend? Can I meet her? Is she like some weird female embodiment of Reid? Derek, answer me."

"We took a break in Central Park this morning and Reid met a girl. I couldn't quite hear the conversation but it was obvious they liked each other. He totally got her number." There's loud clapping and maniacal laughter coming from the other line, while smiles break out across the faces of the other agents sitting at the table. Reid still looks absolutely horrified.

"So, Spence? Are you?" JJ asks softly. Finally, he takes a deep breath and speaks.

"I... I think so?" His voice cracks in the middle of the sentence. He looks around at the smiling faces of his fellow agents, hears Garcia's crazed encouragement, and says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I will."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the positive feedback! You're all lovely! I try to use British spellings/terms during Hermione's part, but I am 100% 'murrican (FREEDOM) so there are probably a ton of slip ups. Sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** okay, so this chapter is mostly filler and it is incredibly, ridiculously, embarrassingly short. It is literally all I've gotten written in the past month because of a chaotic schedule, holiday season, and just lack of motivation. I AM SO SORRY, for both the wait and the length of this chapter. I tried to make it longer but nothing was working and I figured you'd appreciate a short chapter in less time than a longer chapter after an even longer wait than you've experienced now. I hope you guys can find it in your hearts to forgive me!

* * *

Hermione and Harry are eating dinner when she gets the call. She's sure it's Spencer, the man she met in the park the day prior, as she doesn't know many muggles who are friendly enough with her to call, and none of her wizard friends would phone her up either.

"Sorry, Harry, I have to take this," she says, and gets up to in the other room. Harry nods, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye, as though he knows who it is.

"Hello?" She answers the phone as soon as she enters the living room. "Spencer?"

"Yes," a voice breathes on the other line. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Lucky guess," Hermione says. She doesn't want him to know of her basic lack of a social life, after all.****

"Right, so, uh." There's a pause. She can envision him sitting on a couch at home, eating take-in with a half finished book beside him (or perhaps he's more of a home-cooked-meal type? She can easily picture him standing at a kitchen counter, wearing an apron and browning hamburger meat). "... I'm sorry. I'm not very good at making conversation, especially not small talk."

Hermione laughs. "Nor am I. It's okay!" a nervous laugh comes from the phone and she can't help the smile that forms across her face.

"Actually, um, I just called because I had a short break from work and wanted to see if you wanted to have lunch with me tomorrow?" So he works evenings, huh? She wonders what sort of job he has. Perhaps he's in the medical field - she's had her share of working nights at the clinic. "I don't really know of any good places to eat around here, though..." Doesn't know of any good places to eat? Maybe he's not from New York. Maybe he's a travel nurse. Hermione doesn't know a lot about muggle jobs, but she's almost certain that that's one.

"I would love to," she answers. "and I know of a diner near Central Park if you'd like to just meet me there?"

"That sounds great!" Spencer says. "I actually have to go, now, but I'll see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow," Hermione agrees, and smiles.


End file.
